The Girl: Part 1 (Draft Deux)

"How long has it been," asks a small, pale girl from the passenger seat of a faded pickup truck.

Next to her, gripping the wheel loosely is an older man, heavy with years. He sighs, "Since what?"

"Since the radio gave out?" She playfully turns the nob, all the way up and then back down again. "I wish you had a disc player in here," she halfheartedly mutters, looking out the window.

"I don't have any discs."

Leaning her head against the window, she closes her eyes. "Yeah, but it would be nice to have some music. Something with a beat. You know, driving music, wouldn't it?" Her small fingers rap against the window as she hums a wordless tune.

"I suppose."

"I coulda gotten something before we left. Something good. Something with a beat, you know," she repeats, a tired reprise. Her head slumps heavily against the window. "If you had just given me some time."

"You didn't have any music back there." He keeps his eyes on the road.

"No, but I coulda gotten something." She opens her eyes again, looks at the driver, ready for a fight. "I had friends back there, they liked me."

"Doesn't matter. We don't have a disc player."

She sighs and resigns to the window. He shifts his grip, always keeping two hands on the wheel. The silence and sunlight bear down upon the pair as the desert rolls by. Beyond the windshield the flat wilderness stretches as far as the eye can see. The distance wavers in a tempting mirage of substance, dancing at the edge of the horizon. They drive alone down a long, straight stretch of two-lane highway. There are no curves, but the man keeps a steady eye upon the road. The girl is still for a time before twisting and resting against the door, her back carefully avoiding the window crank.

Suddenly she flings her legs up into the man's lap. "Hey," he shouts angrily as he squeezes the wheel. A quick glance her way and then his eyes return to the road. "Don't distract me, I'm driving."

Incredulously, she pushes herself up and looks out the windshield. "What are you worried about, we might hit some sand?" She drops back into the reclined position and wiggles her feet. "Besides, I need to stretch out." A slight smile etches across her face.

"Alright, just don't..." She bounces her feet mid-sentence and laughs. He smiles and looks at the girl. Worn wrinkles relax a little, belying a hidden youth. His grip eases. "You still love messing with me, don't ya?" Turning back to the road, he resettles and shifts his grip. Minutes go by in silence.

She stares at the man and the bright, cloudless sky behind him before turning her attention back to the radio. A click sounds as she turns the nob. She toys with the dial, but only the deep hum of the engine is heard. "Did it just break? I mean, shouldn't there be static?" She turns the volume knob all the way up and waits.

"I guess it broke," he replies, gently.

"Hmm. That must have been hours ago." She slowly turns the knob down, leaving the radio in the on position. "How many hours, do you think," looking up at him, hopefully.

"Not too long."

"Two? Three?" She sidles close to him.

"Dunno."

"C'mon, you have to know. I mean, you're always in such a hurry, always keeping track." She sits in the middle of the cab, close to him, on the edge of the seat.

"I'm in a hurry because you need to be safe. Everything I do, I do for you." He glances down at her, but only for a moment.

She sighs and leans back, "If everything you do is for me, why couldn't we stay?"

"It wasn't safe."

"Yeah it was, my friends were all there. They could have protected me," she argues, weakly. Before he replies, she looks away, losing interest.

"They couldn't protect you from him. No one can." His wrinkles return and his grip tightens. In the distance, something different, something real begins to take form. "There's a stop ahead, might be gas, we need it."

She sits up and squints into the sun, "I don't see it. All this sun, we shoulda taken one of them solars. Then we wouldn't need gas."

"I don't steal," comes the hasty reply, "and we can't afford one. Besides, people are willing to give me gas for what I do, but nobody gives up a solar."

"Can I watch this time," she inquires, turning to look at him.

"No. I am not even sure what this place is, there mightn't be anything there." He glances quickly at the fuel gage. Nearly empty.

"Well, if there is someone there, isn't it time for me to learn, to see what you do?" She pushes against him, gently wrapping herself around his arm.

"No. Put on your seatbelt. If something happens, you know what to do, right?" He waits for a reply before turning to her, "Right?" She nods and sinks into the seat as she slips on the belt. Her arms quickly fold across her worn dress and she shifts against the door. Exhaling strongly, she turns from him. "I am only trying to protect you. If something goes wrong, you drive away. I will catch up, you just drive away, okay?" The girl moves her head slightly, but maintains her petulant pose. "Good," he mutters and a fragile smile leaks across his face.

"I can't even reach the pedals," she replies in a sulky voice. He abruptly looks down at the floor and then at the wheel. Slowing the truck, he begins to mutter under his breath. Obscenities slip out. "Don't worry, he never finds us when we are moving," she reassures, turning towards him, worry stricken across her face.

"Yeah, well, he could. I didn't fucking think. These old cars use pedals. Damnit. It's risky, you will be all alone out here, trapped." His voice wavers, his fingers rap on the steering wheel. "Alright," his voice racing, "you can come in this time, but wear the hood."

She bounces in her seat, reaching under her legs for a dirty, white pile of cloth. "I stand out with the hood," she complains.

"You stand out more without it," he replies, slowly bringing the truck back up to speed.